The room fell silent as the hillbillies cowered before the moral strength of the original asiatic blackman; Jeremy Birdcastle cowered like a porcelain statue of whiteness itself, too wack to speak.

"I gather that you expect me to whip your ass, you white cracker warlock. But I will not give you that satisfaction, for to whip your ass would only be a waste of righteousness. My eagle will not peck out your eyeballs, for they have witnessed too much wack Kevin Sorbo television programming to be palatable to the righteous bird. My pig will not bite your lame ass. Your punishment will be far greater than all of these things."

Damn.

And Jeremy Birdcastle trembled, for he knew Tooth Tooth was not a man to make threats that couldn't be backed up with supreme justice. Tooth Tooth slowly walked to the stage where Birdcastle stood, cowering but still holding his damn turnip aloft. Tooth Tooth slapped the turnip out of Birdcastle's hand in NYC streetball fashion and looked directly into Birdcastle's eyes.

"Your punishment is thus, spawn of Yacub: you will look into my eyes at this moment and you will see the soul of a righteous man. You will, for just one minute, witness the possibility of a life that is not wack. You will hear the truest guitar solo of the Isley Brothers ring in your head; you will see the unbeatable spirit of Biggie, the street guile of Big L."

Jeremy Birdcastle was paralyzed by righteousness. A single tear rolled down his cheek.

"You have seen the face of god, white man. Not the mystery god that lives in the imagination of your people, but the true black god who lives on earth. You will walk through my kingdom forevermore knowing that you have no place in it. You know now that your life is wack, that bicycles are stupid, that Stargate SG1 is a thing for children."

Jeremy Birdcastle saw that his life was wack as fuck, and he began to sob like a child.

"But you cannot ever do anything about it, Jeremy Birdcastle. You are cursed to live a life of whiteness, and that is a curse I could never wish on the most misguided of my own people. You will be a white ghost on the streets of my city, shunned by the righteous man forever. You will never be able to read wildstyle tags, and all hip hop will ring hollow in your ears-- except Drake. Goodbye, Jeremy Birdcastle."

Jeremy Birdcastle was on the floor now, his racking sobs filling the Giant Turnip Pavillion. Tooth Tooth turned away, unable to stand the sight of this simpering whiteling destroyed by the magnitude of his own wackness. Tooth Tooth picked up the huge-ass turnip and handed it to Odin, who ate that shit in like two bites.

Odin looked up at Tooth with that wise and humorous countenance that we now recognize on the noble swine. "That shit pretty good though, Tooth," it seemed to say.

Damn.

And that is the story of Tooth Tooth, cousin. That is the story of a man who tasted swine and lived to tell it; a man who defeated the most odious of alabaster warlocks with only the power of his soul; a man who called a pig his friend and called an eagle his brother. He calmed down a bit, but you still see Tooth out there in the streets, making sure the kids are living right, building with young men on the nature of Supreme Mathematics; he is loved by his city, feared by those Yacuban barbarians who would taste the flesh of a wise and good animal. He but a poor righteous teacher.